


Damn, I Wish I Was Your Lover

by nenya_kanadka



Category: The Expanse (TV)
Genre: Daydreaming, F/F, Femslash February, Femslash February 2018, Older Woman/Younger Woman, Sexual Fantasy, Wall Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-06
Updated: 2018-02-06
Packaged: 2019-03-14 14:55:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 604
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13592484
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nenya_kanadka/pseuds/nenya_kanadka
Summary: Chrisjen lets her gaze snag on the statuesque shadow in the corner. She narrows her eyes, shifts her focus, tries toseeDraper for what she is rather than for the awkward space she takes up in the corner of the elegant UN office.





	Damn, I Wish I Was Your Lover

**Author's Note:**

  * For [jyorraku](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jyorraku/gifts), [venndaai](https://archiveofourown.org/users/venndaai/gifts).



> Set some time nebulously after Season 2. (Other fic seems to set them in space at this point? IDK if that's book canon.) Apply handwavium as needed.
> 
> There may eventually be more story on the theme of "Avasarala gets laid in all the ways she so brilliantly deserves." Mostly or entirely Bobbiesarala. No promise about plot. :D

Bobbie Draper is standing at not-quite-attention just inside her office door, and it is starting to seriously annoy Chrisjen Avasarala. It appears that the young Martian marine and her head of security have made some arrangement that involves the presence of one or the other of them at all times, which in the present circumstances Chrisjen has to admit isn't unwarranted. However, when it's Cotyar on duty he doesn't hover in the corner like an especially earnest statue; he sprawls in one of her chairs and does obscure things with his handheld until she requires his opinion or a fresh cup of tea. 

Bobbie stares straight ahead as if she's under review by her former military superiors. She's chosen a view out the window, at least, instead of staring fixedly at the wall, so it's not a case of bullheaded stupidity (she wouldn't be Chrisjen's if she were stupid); more likely an attempt at respect. But she's just _standing_ there at the edge of Chrisjen's vision, catching at her fraying attention every time Chrisjen turns her head, and it's driving her fucking nuts. 

The next time Chrisjen looks up from her work, she lets her gaze snag on the statuesque shadow in the corner. She narrows her eyes, shifts her focus, tries to _see_ Draper for what she is rather than for the awkward space she takes up in the corner of the elegant UN office. 

She's so fucking tall. Taller than Cotyar, in fact, and the impression she gives off of strength and competence is only enhanced by the memory of the girl in full power armor. Coming to her rescue. Flinging Mao's men aside as if they were nothing. Stalking across the room and looking down at Chrisjen, and—instead of the bullets she'd always expected to meet from a Martian hand, effortlessly pulling her to safety. 

Oh. _Oh._

Chrisjen swears extremely thoroughly inside her own head, and draws on decades of practice to glance calmly back down at her work as if nothing is wrong. But she can still feel the flush of heat beneath her makeup and the tight twist in her stomach, even as she frowns in concentration and flicks up a new set of holos over the desk. 

She doesn't see the glowing lines in the air before her. She sees Bobbie in her armor, strong enough to lift her bodily off the floor. Without her helmet, in this foolish daydream, her hair falling around her shoulders in dark waves. Like it had on the beach. Bobbie crossing the floor with long strides of those muscular thighs—graceful, powerful, and all Chrisjen's now. Wrapping her arms around her, hands careful with the delicate silk of her sari as it rucks up under her gloves, scooping her up as if she weighs nothing at all. Another powerful stride and Chrisjen's back hits the wall, and the girl is kissing her while Chrisjen clings to her shoulders, silver nails against gunmetal grey, and Chrisjen rolls her hips hard against Bobbie's strong thigh and sinks her teeth into her plump lower lip—

She blinks, bites her own tongue to hide the sound she wants to make. Her pulse is a hot, hard throb between her thighs, but she knows how to set that aside, too. She holds the vision for another searing second. Then she sucks in a breath and turns it into a sigh of exasperation. 

"Sit _down_ , Draper," she says, and if her voice is rough that's only to be expected from the old battle-axe Bobbie sees, surely. "Sit down before I sprain my fucking neck looking at you."


End file.
